Three Loves Have I

As have many women these past several months, I've spent more time looking at and thinking about my clothes than actually wearing them.

I performed the usual change-of-seasons closet turnover and have been surreptitiously weeding my garden of apparel ever since. I've come to realize my wardrobe, like Gaul, is divided in three parts: Stay-at-home, Go-around-the-block and Going-out. That last should really be labelled Going-nowhere.

 

Stay-at-home clothes don't deserve precious closet space and live in a wicker trunk. These are the clothes I wear to clean the house or be super-comfortable lying around it: old souvenir and rock band t-shirts, shapeless sweaters with pills,  cozy pants without a hint of spandex. No one, except my husband (the one with the blind eye) should see me in these.

Go-around-the-block clothes are good enough to be seen in by neighbors or fellow errand runners. They are the clothes I aspire to put on every day and usually do, but often not till around 1 or 2. These outfits are actually coordinated and look like they are meant to be together. They also pass for being in style, whatever that may be. The pants fit and serve as a test to see if I'm keeping the dreaded Covid 15 at bay. This is also when I'll put on a bit of makeup, but no lipstick. Why waste it since I'll be wearing a mask?

My sister Lonnie, Grandma and me

I'm reminded here of my grandmother, so I'll digress. I would often spend long summer days with the only grandmother I knew, Celia Sigel. She spoke little as she wasn't comfortable with English, but we enjoyed each other's company. She was nothing if not a lady. 

Grandma's mornings were spent doing chores around the apartment (in a house dress). She took a nap for an hour after lunch. She would then get washed (baths were for bedtime) and change into a nice dress, complete with stockings, sensible heels and jewelry. We would then walk to the market or the drugstore (where I'm sure the pharmacist, Mr. Uberstine, had a crush on her). Sometimes we'd stop in to visit with a neighbor—I liked the one who had an open dish of candy in the living room—then go home. Maybe we were gone 90 minutes, but that was the big event. She stayed in nice clothes through dinner, despite spending most of that time in the kitchen.

It was important for Grandma to feel good when she went out, and I guess that's the way I think about it today. It's also a nice memory, though my neighbors don't have candy, and there is no Mr. Uberstine at the drug store to flirt with.

Going-out clothes are the ones that get looked at and passed over, with a sigh. If I thought I'd never get the chance to wear them again, I'd toss them, but I don't believe that. Although I could certainly get gussied up for a curbside pick up candlelight dinner, that's not the point. These are clothes that are meant to be seen. The choosing of and ritual of dressing is as much a part of them as where they are going. They belong to a life I don't have right now—working, volunteering, being with friends, going to museums and performances, shopping, traveling... I'm not ready to say goodbye to all that.

A message to all my clothes (and everyone):